Treasure Maps
by Ly Merrick
Summary: Santana's living in New York, producing a Jazz album. Rachel lives in New York and is a big Broadway star. The two run into each other years after high school at a gay bar, of all places. (One-Shot)


**Title**: Treasure Maps

**Pairing**: Rachel/Santana

**Rating**: M for smut

**Synopsis**: It's been four years since the members of McKinley's glee club graduated high school. Santana and Rachel run into each other at a gay bar in the City - and alcohol makes things interesting.

**A/N**: Lyrics and title from Ani DiFranco's "Hypnotized." This is a special one-shot requested by and written for truelovepooh/poohlikeaboss.

###

_So that's how you found me_

_Rain falling around me_

_Lookin down at a worm_

_With a long way to go_

_And the traffic was hissing by_

_And I was homesick_

_And I was high_

_I was surrounded by a language_

_in which i could say only hello_

_And thank you very much_

_But you spoke so I could understand_

_And I drew a treasure map on your hand_

###

"Jeff!" Santana all but bowled the bartender over at the end of the bar, and the man smiled handsomely and hugged her back. She hadn't been in for what seemed to be a little over two weeks; the Latina had been recording a Jazz album reminiscent of Nina Simone to be released later that year, just before their five year class reunion. She frequented the bar, lovingly called Connections. It was a hole-in-the-wall compared to most of the gay bars in New York City, but it was the place Santana had most felt at home. It was nice not to be completely overwhelmed by loud music and flashy dance-floors. Santana liked the intimacy of it. It was a good place to be if you wanted to forget about everything, or think too much about it and then get really drunk.

"Hey girl!" He beamed, glad to see her face. "Still working on that album?"

"Psh, _papi_, like I give you reason to doubt me," Santana grinned and took a seat at the bar. In the background, music pounded over the system and groups of friends hollered and danced and sang. It was a good vibe, something Santana had needed after the stress of financing her album and recording and writing.

"The usual?"

"Mm, thanks," she slid the money and tip across the counter as he handed her a large Cherry bomb, sipped at it and savored the fruity flavor. "What's been going on?"

"Business as usual, gorgeous," he was busily mixing drinks for someone else and threw her an apologetic smile before disappearing into the crowd. Santana merely smirked and enjoyed her drink, listening to the music and sighing with a sort of relief she hadn't felt in a while.

It'd been an interesting journey since high school. Although she and Britt had stayed together nearly a year after high school, they eventually reached a point where they'd mutually decided they'd outgrown their relationship and they'd both be happier as friends. It had surprisingly worked out better than Santana had expected in her youth, but maybe that's what came with maturity. She'd moved to New York City just the year prior to pursue a career in music, and through Artie she'd met some great contacts and was working on her first album. She was getting ready to release a single within the next couple of months, with an album to follow shortly after. After all, she'd figured out a calling for her smokey, sultry voice.

Santana had stumbled upon the beauty that was Nina Simone and the perfection that was Ella Fitzgerald and felt as if she was listening to the thing she should've found all along. Shortly thereafter, she'd begun pursuing adamantly a career in making music in their honor.

The only one of her old comrades that had made a big name for themselves was, who else but Rachel Berry, Broadway star. Not like Santana had ever really doubted it.

Although they both lived in the City, there was definitely little to no chance of seeing Rachel anywhere. New York City was so large, and so populated, that the likelihood of running into someone you knew - unless you knew a hell of a lot of people - was small. It was a beautiful thing, to be so surrounded but somehow so alone.

Finishing her first Cherry bomb (large), she went outside for a cigarette, standing near a group of chatting 20-somethings like herself. The Latina had a smirk on her face as she watched people pass by, and greeted one of the drag queens she knew from the bar. She winked at the queen, who responded with an extended, 'heeeeey good looking!' Santana grinned and shoved her free hand in her jeans, pressing her leather jacket tighter to her side. It was a slightly brisk night, but nothing too bad.

It wasn't until she heard a characteristically abrupt laugh that Santana arched an eyebrow and realized she knew one of the people in the group beside her. Rachel Berry was slightly inebriated from the looks of it, face flushed and red. She was amidst the company of some very flamboyant boys. Most likely some of her Broadway coworkers, and Santana took the opportunity to take in just how un-Rachel Berry the diva was dressed. She had apparently gone from duckling to swan (never ugly by all means).

Rachel was wearing nothing but a black dress that looked like it could have been a t-shirt if she hadn't been so short-statured. And god _damn _if she didn't have the hottest pair of legs Santana had seen in a long time. They were toned, tan, and she wore a pair of black, strapped heels that made her legs look a mile long. She must have noticed someone was looking at her, because in the midst of conversation she glanced over, drew her bottom lip in slightly. She shot whoever it was - not recognizing Santana at first - a beaming grin and Santana didn't remember Rachel's eyes being that expressive or dark.

Never the shy one, Santana arched an eyebrow, finished her cigarette, and put the butt out on the heel of her boot. Rachel was staring at her, still apparently not recognizing her just yet but enjoying the view. Santana had always known Rachel was a bit of a pressed lemon, fawning over the Green Giant all the time. Those dark eyes moved over Santana's legs, up over her torso, and the Latina guessed Rachel was partway up the length of her neck and throat before Santana moved forward under the flourescent light and leaned against the wall as she put her cigarettes away. Her own eyes must have been equally intense, because Rachel was staring straight into them. Santana remained leaned against brick for a few more moments, eyes locked right on Rachel's. She could feel the tension grow by the second.

"From hobbit to Broadway star? Who would have fucking guessed?"

Rachel's friends parted like the red sea, suddenly realizing their short friend must have known this person or she would've gotten angry. The diva confirmed what Santana was sure they had been thinking by gasping and covering her mouth. "Oh my god," Rachel flushed, as if realizing she'd been adamantly checking out someone who _knew _who she had been before all the glitz and glamour.

Santana grinned widely, a grin reserved for only those closest to her but surprisingly came natural to seeing a familiar face in New York City. The Latina nodded her head simply, long black hair slipping over her shoulders. "Hey, Berry," her voice was smooth, like silk, a switch turned on either by the alcohol or the fact that she was imagining those legs wrapped around her head.

Rachel flushed under the attention, "G-guys," she stammered nervously, eyes flickering to her friends, "this is an old high school ... friend of mine." They had never really been friends, but Santana knew that was all behind them. Especially at the way Rachel had licked her lips when she met Santana's eyes. Even though part of it must have been because of the alcohol, it was still kind of a confidence boost. They were both 20-somethings, much more mature and aware of themselves. "It's wonderful to see you, Santana." Rachel was blushing a little redder. "This is uhm, this is .. "

The tallest and most feminine of the three boys with Rachel leaned forward, "Since our little star is tongue-tied, I'm Josiah. This is Rylen, and this is Michael." He introduced the other two. Rylen was a pretty boy with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, almost like Sam might have looked if he was really feminine. Michael was a taller, slightly masculine African man with a bright smile.

"Nice to meet you," Michael bowed his head, took Santana's hand, and kissed the top of it.

Rylen smiled just as brightly, and as he slipped an arm around Michael's waist, Santana realized they must be together from the way his eyes shone when he looked at the man. The Latina greeted them all with a nod and a slight smirk, and the entire time she could feel Rachel's eyes weighing on her. It was an intoxicating thrill. It had been a while since Santana had really been checked out like that, and maybe it was more thrilling that it was the perfect saint Rachel Berry.

The boys must have noticed the tension because they excused themselves and left the girls alone on the sidewalk. "So you got famous," Santana smirked softly.

"I hear you're on your way," Rachel complimented lightly, smiling in her own way. Santana didn't remember how absolutely bright that smile was. "A Jazz album, isn't it?"

"How'd you hear about that?"

"I'm quite connected, you know. Being on Broadway means I hear about everything musically related in any way. I didn't even ... recognize you this evening ... " Rachel's eyes unconsciously slid their way down Santana's frame. "Although you do look quite stunning."

"Who knew Rachel Berry could look that damn sexy?" Santana fired back with a slight smirk, the stunned look on Rachel's face and the way her mouth was hanging open slightly was just enough to make it funny. She tried not to laugh, though, wanting Rachel to know she was fully serious about what she'd said. The diva was blushing, and cleared her throat.

"Did you want to ... go inside?"

"Sounds good. The question is, can you still dance, Berry?" Santana looped an arm around Rachel's shoulders, marvelling at the feel of her warmth against her side, and the way a hand had slipped around her waist. She took in the scent of some unnamed perfume, maybe it was the way Rachel had always smelled when they were in high school, but there was something much more sensual about it now. If Santana wasn't mistaken, Rachel was scraping her fingernails gently beneath the cover of Santana's leather jacket as they moved into the bar.

Rachel's friends were nowhere to be found, so the diva stayed glued to Santana's side and the Latina ordered the first round of shots. She'd never honestly expected herself to meet Rachel Berry in a gay bar and be doing shots with her. Rachel fucking Berry had been too afraid of everything to become the woman she was now. At least, that had been Santana's former thinking.

Though as Rachel knocked back a fourth shot and caught Santana's eye, the Latina knew she was dealing with a totally different Rachel than the one she'd known. She liked the other one alright, secretly, but this was Rachel Berry the potential seductress. Especially the way she trailed her fingers down the front of Santana's leather jacket and tugged a little. The taller girl leaned down to hear what it was Rachel had to say.

"Dance with me," that voice that had for so many years sang Barbra sounded lusty. It turned Santana on even though she wouldn't ever admit that to anyone she'd known in high school. Rachel tugged a little harder on Santana's jacket, encouraging her onto the dance floor. It was hard to say no to a body like that. Santana was thinking with her imaginary dick, because all she could see was those legs and those big brown eyes. Rachel's tongue slipped over her pink bottom lip, and the Latina was glued to the sight.

The diva was apparently fully aware of what she was doing; she smiled wide and proud, twisting herself in Santana's arms and dancing with her, body pressed back against the Latina. Rachel Berry, a fucking sex kitten. Who knew?

Santana slipped her hands to Rachel's waist, felt the delicate curve, the warmth of her skin beneath her dress, lost herself in the way Rachel felt against her. It felt _good. _The shorter girl had wrapped an arm back around Santana's neck, grazing the sensitive skin there before turning around and slipping her hands to rest on Santana's shoulders.

"Damn, Berry," Santana stated, knowing that Rachel wasn't likely to hear her but she'd get the idea of it. True to her prediction, Rachel merely grinned again, lips parted in a quiet laugh. The diva's cheeks were flushed and of course there was the momentary thought that Rachel was just drunk, but there was a kind of coherence in the way she looked at her.

They danced for some time, and Santana lost track of the hours. When they announced last call, Rachel seemed to be relatively sober and Santana was intoxicated merely with her presence. There was something starkly different about this diva. She had become confident, self-aware, and fully in control of her sex appeal.

Santana was digging it, for sure.

Rachel lead her out, and though she looked to see if her friends had stuck around, she hadn't seen them. "You should come to my place," the invitation was nuanced just so that Santana felt herself warm all over.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" The Latina smirked, eyed Rachel carefully as she toyed with her. She felt two soft hands slip around her neck, toy with the fine hairs at the back of her neck.

"Hmm," Rachel hummed softly, leaned up on her tip toes. She pressed two full lips to Santana's throat, kissed, sucked, to the point where Santana's eyes dropped shut and she had to swallow a gasp or two. She felt Rachel's tongue graze the pulse at her neck, teeth pull at her ear lobe, and somehow the shorter girl's hands had dropped to Santana's ass.

Aggressiveness was a huge turn on, so of course Santana ended up in the back of a small limo as Rachel's personal driver arrived to take her back to her penthouse apartment (Broadway was generous in pay, apparently). The Latina had gathered this information in the brief amount of time they tried to keep up the pretense of conversation.

That didn't last. Soon Rachel was climbing on top of Santana and kissing her like she owned her. The Latina felt herself going weak all over as Rachel dominated her. It wasn't often someone could so easily sway and top her when it came to sex, but she had a feeling Rachel had control here and would have control all night.

Santana swooned at the thought. When they arrived at Rachel's place, the Latina barely had any time to get in the door before Rachel was pushing her against the wall and pulling her jacket off, kissing skin in between pulling clothing off. She had Santana's shirt pushed halfway up, her hands pushing underneath the clothing, and the Latina was frankly amazed.

Uncharacteristically, she groaned and broke the contact. "Rachel," she murmured, "as much as I love a good fuck, you realize that this is me, right?"

"Exactly," Rachel moved back, a cat-like smirk on her lips. Santana watched as the shorter girl lowered the straps of her dress, all tan skin and bare shoulders, kicked off her shoes, and bent her finger to beckon Santana to her.

Wait, was this like a one-night stand thing? Santana didn't know if she should be insulted or turned on.

Rachel slipped her finger through a belt-loop and roughly pulled Santana to her, kissing her lips hard, teeth pulling on her bottom lip before she groaned softly into the Latina's mouth. Santana would've lost her balance if Rachel hadn't already somehow maneuvered them into her bedroom and shoved Santana onto the bed. The brunette pulled her dress over her head, discarded it, and was quick to remove her bra as well. Santana marveled at the honest beauty of Rachel's body and was suddenly taken over with something that was different than lust. It was a kind of emotional stirring.

Santana sat up, grabbing Rachel's hips and leaning up, kissing Rachel a little slower. Rachel must have been feeling something a little intense as well, because she whimpered into Santana's kiss.

"You don't know how bad I wanted you in high school," Rachel breathed as she pressed brief kisses against Santana's lips.

"You serious?"

Rachel nodded, meeting Santana's eyes. It was in that brief moment of emotional connection that Santana saw something that sort of frightened her. Or rather, she felt something. A possibility of feelings, of vulnerability. Like she'd been blinded until right now. Half-naked with Rachel Berry? This wasn't the moment she expected. Emotion wasn't what she expected. With the emotion, want bubbled up inside her. Absolutely consuming desire that only came with some sudden realization that you'd been missing something. The Latina switched their positions, pressed Rachel's hands into the mattress as she straddled her. She found Rachel's lips wanting, kissed her slow and sensuous.

The diva's whimpers made Santana's heart flutter, and soon she found herself kissing Rachel with more than lust. The emotions she was feeling scared the hell out of her. They didn't make sense.

Santana got off the bed long enough to take off her pants, and quickly resumed. Her mouth explored every line and curve of Rachel's body, fingers drawing up Rachel's side, across her waist; Santana circled a fingertip around an already erect nipple. She smirked. Rachel looked like she was pleading, trying to keep some control over her vocal reactions at the foreplay. Santana's tongue dipped against the puckered skin around her nipple, mouth taking the hard nub into her mouth and sucking while her hand paid just as much attention to the other. Rachel's fingers were tangled in Santana's hair, although she occasionally seemed torn as she began to lose control.

Santana had to give her credit – Rachel had pretty good control over her vocal reactions. Occasional whimpers, whispered words fell out of her mouth. The Latina's mouth moved lower, settling along a hip as she kissed the taut skin there, her free hand laced with Rachel's. She'd never held anyone's hand before in a moment like this. She was as fascinated with the connection between their palms as she was by the way Rachel arched up when she gasped. She clutched Rachel's hand harder, used her free hand to remove the rest of the brunette's clothing. The raw beauty of her was stunning. She kissed up an inner-thigh, all the while refusing to let go of Rachel's hand just as Rachel refused to let go of hers. She felt intoxicated, swooned at the warmth and scent before she grazed Rachel's clit with her tongue. Rachel bucked, moaned, a sound that sounded like a sigh and a whimper.

Santana hummed to intensify the experience for Rachel, the vibrations likely to drive the diva wild. Even as Rachel begged, Santana found herself so enamored with shaking up Rachel's world that she lost track of time. Rachel came three times, the taste of her lingering as Santana moved back up her body and kissed her, softly, pulled the trembling diva into her arms and twined her half-clothed body with hers. Rachel clung to her, kissed her desperately as if to keep herself alive.

Feeling Rachel's fingers at the back of her neck, trailing her shoulderblades, it was the sight of Rachel so vulnerable and so emotionally bare in the moments of her afterglow that Santana realized the diva deserved more than a one-night stand. She couldn't say this, didn't want to let Rachel in her head, so instead she pressed her lips to Rachel's cheek, her eye, her temple, soothing the girl as she came down to earth again.

Yet, unable to help herself, her hand snaked between them and found Rachel's heat again. She pressed into her, held on to her, fucked her deep and fulfilled every impulse and need communicated by her most intimate muscles. Rachel was moaning into Santana's ear, practically crying in ecstasy as she came again. When she whispered, "Baby," into Santana's ear, the Latina swooned.

None of this was what she expected.

By the time Santana fulfilled all her desires, claimed Rachel in every way possible, the brunette had gained some strength back and seemed determined to return the torture. Rachel's mouth was everywhere, warm and demanding, tugging at her nipples, her skin. Those deft fingers surprised the hell out of Santana when they slipped inside her and started touching places Santana didn't know existed.

It was also the first time Santana had tears in her eyes after an orgasm. Rachel kissed them away, kissed her quietly and needfully. Rachel had touched some deep emotional place that had gone untapped for so long.

They fell asleep together, bare-skinned and flushed.

###

In the morning, Rachel wasn't in the bed. Santana was slightly disoriented but not the least bit hung over. It took her a moment to realize exactly where she was, and then memories of the night before flashed through her head like some kind of romantic movie. Who the fuck would've expected Santana to be the one who had feelings after a one-night stand? All it took was that one moment of organic chemistry and particles in the air and Santana was hooked like a love-sick puppy.

She had to seal the deal, had to let Rachel feel the way she was feeling. In the bathroom, she heard shower-water running. Without a second thought, she got out of bed and moved into the steaming bathroom, closing the door behind her. Rachel heard the sound and poked her head out, but by this time Santana had crossed the distance and caught Rachel's face in her hands, kissed her quietly the way she would greet a lover of many years. That whimper made Santana feel electric all over again. It didn't take long to climb into the shower, kissing Rachel with a mixture of emotion and physical passion; she felt slick skin against her own as the shorter girl wrapped her arms around Santana's body and crushed them together. It was as if something had possessed them that lay long dormant between them. It was amazing and perplexing.

Santana's kisses grew more desperate and emotional. She was losing control of her emotions. Her hand moved over Rachel's wet skin, traced over her arms, her waist, felt the firmness of her ass in her palm, pressed Rachel against the tiled wall. Soon Rachel's leg was wrapping around Santana's waist and the other kept her steady as the Latina fucked her into oblivion.

Rachel was crying out, clawing at Santana's slick and tender skin, bucking against the insistency of the Latina's touch. They matched rhythm for rhythm, like a drumbeat pounding between them. It was all at once passionate and rough, loving and unforgiving.

She felt Rachel's walls quivering around her fingers, tightening, so she slowed down.

"Please," Rachel begged. The brunette was too near orgasm to stop. Santana caught Rachel's lips. She wanted to kiss Rachel as she made her come, wanted to be intimately locked with her.

"Call me baby," Santana whispered against her lips, drawing out the torture just a second more.

Rachel's eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned, "Baby," over the hush of the shower water. Santana could feel Rachel's insides locking around her touch, and she continued to massage and ease the muscles into a subdued passion.

Their slick bodies lingered together even as Rachel's knees nearly gave out. Santana held Rachel's warm body to hers underneath the flow of hot water, and they kissed in a way that Santana had never kissed anyone before.

They stayed in the shower together, made love more than once, until they were both pruny at the fingertips. It was hard to keep their hands off one another, and even harder to keep their lips from crushing together in passionate embraces. Finally dried off and semi-clothed, Rachel made Santana the first of many breakfasts she would make her over the following years.


End file.
